Haven't I Killed You Before?
by Fractal-Velocity
Summary: Follow Hermione Granger as she struggles to survive the Second Wizarding War of Britain, willingly attacks a werewolf, resurrects an enemy and constantly runs into Draco fucking Malfoy. (HG/DM WAR AU)
1. A Series of Unfortunate Happenstance

The hallway is quiet apart from a steady dripping from the floors above; a busted conduit of water releasing its contents off the third floor and down the now unmoving stairs. The dark water drips steadily onto the ground of the corridor Hermione is crouching in and pools at her feet.

It's dark.

And cold. Ugh. She shivers as she skips over yet another puddle of murky water and waves her wand to rekindle the Lumos charm. The wan light flickers almost in protest before growing stronger.

"Stupid light," she mutters absently, missing a beat as the charm stutters again.

The hallway is plunged into sudden darkness for a split second and her foot lands straight in ankle deep water; the cold rushing over the mouth of her boots to pool between her toes.

"Ah! Stupid water," she exclaims in quiet aggression; leaping away from the offending puddle, only to land in yet another and another.

The continuous splashing of her feet echoes noisily in the hallway and Hermione curses again.

"Stupid war, stupid Death Eaters," she mumbles. "Stupid, _stupid_ , **_stupid_**."

"Merlin, woman, are you _trying_ to get killed?"

Hermione yelps in shock, spinning around with her wand clenched tightly in her palm, only to illuminate a familiar pallid face she hasn't had the misfortune of seeing in over a year.

"Malfoy? What the-," she chokes out, clutching her chest in casual shock, before remembering herself and stammering out a hasty Petrificus Totalus.

The look of dry disbelief Malfoy throws her way is so cutting that she actually winces. Her spell bounces off the shield he's conjured and they both watch it deflect against the wall.

The water keeps steadily dripping somewhere behind them both and without Hermione's Lumos charm there is only darkness around them.

She waits, in the near silence, and hears Malfoy wait with her. His breathing is strangely steady, compared to her rabbit heartbeat, but she figures it because he had the opportunity to tail her this far and she was the one who'd been surprised.

That isn't good- she'd let her guard down. That or Malfoy was an eerily quiet stalker. It's not entirely her fault to be honest because everyone thinks he's dead. The silence is uncomfortable now. Some part of her is aware that this isn't how many of her battles usually go. She roots around inside herself for some battle reflex but somehow comes up short.

"Well," Hermione starts, rolling her wand in her hands. "Um, I did the petrifying thing."

Malfoy scoffs in the dark. Familiar and out of place. "So?"

"It's your move? You can," she offers, shifting in place. "You can try a _Crucio_ or something."

She isn't sure why she's talking to him.

"I genuinely cannot for the life of me generate enough fucks to do any such thing," Malfoy sighs long-sufferingly.

"Well," she mutters, rolling her eyes at the statement. "You can just say no."

"Didn't I?"

"In so many words."

"I felt the situation called for it."

"Okay," Hermione sighs. This was getting too odd. "Well. I'm going to go on ahead. Bye."

Shaking her head, the witch turns slowly to leave. The strangeness of the moment drowns under the weight of her weariness, barely noted. Pushing the interaction away, Hermione mutters a quick Lumos and hopes that no one else is inside the corridors as well.

Clenching her wand again, she tries to reduce the squelching her damp boots make by walking with extreme care. Knees bent and arms out for balance, she avoids the next three puddles with ease and manages to reduce the squelching to squeaks. A sudden swish of air behind her makes her pause, and then Malfoy is there again, quiet and pale.

"So what's the plan? Making yourself a target are we? Human bait?" he asks, with very little disdain.

"No," Hermione retorts quietly, shooting a glare in his direction. "Why are you here?"

"Why are you making so much noise?"

"I'm _trying_ not to," Hermione snaps, pointing down at her extra careful steps.

"You look utterly ridiculous," Malfoy states, stopping in his tracks to raise a brow down at her. "Though that's nothing new."

"Nice to see the death toll has brought your sense of humor out," Hermione bites, taking a big normal step and cringing at the squelch her shoes make.

Malfoy squirms too. He looks around them, waving the tip of his wand with a wordless Lumos.

"You're _very_ loud," he says.

"And you have no reason to still be here," Hermione points out, stabbing towards him with her wand.

"I'm heading in the same direction," Malfoy shrugs and she knows its a lie.

"No, you're not."

"Maybe I am," he counters.

"Maybe? What kind of s-,"

"You're doing a _splendid_ job of not being a human target you know," Malfoy grits out through clenched teeth, storming ahead of her suddenly with a swish of robes.

His wand light dims to nothing just as a shout echoes in the corridor before them.

Everything happens in a split second.

Hermione darts around Malfoy's frame to see a flash of bright red hurtle their way. They jump apart, allowing the curse to pass by with a hairsbreadth to spare, and then Malfoy is grabbing her wand and thrusting it in front of them, his mouth moving silently.

The red spell flares up once more but the _Incendio_ Malfoy casts hits its mark faster- followed by a hasty Silencing charm.

The figure at the end of the corridor bursts into flames and silent screams, and Hermione wastes no time in snatching her wand back.

"What the _fuck_ was that?" she snaps, pointing her wand at the blonde's throat.

"That? The guy who tried to kill you is now burning," Malfoy snarks, edging away from her.

"You _stole_ my wand!" she snaps, barely remembering not to shriek.

"I merely commandeered it for purposes beneficial to you, woman, honestly-,"

"Don't you have a wand?!"

"Well sue me for not wanting to leave a calling card for killing my own people-,"

"Give me one good reason you shouldn't burn too," Hermione seethes, annoyed at her own confusion.

"Oh _now_ you want to kill me?" he protests. "After I practically save your sorry arse?"

"You... wait, what? Why?" Hermione asks.

"Very coherent Granger. McGonagall must be proud."

"McGonagall is dead. Now tell me what the heck you think you're doing!"

Malfoy narrows his eyes at her. "Literally just killed the guy trying to kill you, Granger."

"No, he tried to kill the both of us."

"I'm pretty sure no one on my side wants to kill me right now."

The witch scowls at that, wand wavering. Malfoy senses her hesitation and lifts a hand, slowly knocking the tip of her wand away from his neck with the back of his knuckles.

"I'm going to see who I hit," Malfoy announces, rolling his eyes at her half-hearted protest. "Ten points to me if its Rowle."

He trudges ahead, boots clicking mutedly against the marble floor. Hermione grimaces as he goes, confusion and annoyance welling inside her like a storm. She watches his shiny white hair bob as he avoids the puddles and her grimace turns into a harsh scowl. Her arms return to their leaden state as the adrenaline leaves her system, leaving her whole body tired and weary.

It's like Malfoy himself put it: she cannot, for the life of her, generate the necessary fucks to deal with this situation. So she kicks off her noisy and damp boots one by one, turns on her heel and marches back down the way she came. She walks quickly and quietly and doesn't light her wand. Doesn't stop to realize she isn't breathing- just holding her breath and speed-walking away from the man who is probably crouching over the burned corpse of a death eater and trying to place who it is. She lets her thighs feel the burn of her speedy exit and is ridiculously relieved when she turns through a ruined alcove and sees the chaos of the fight still raging on across the Quidditch field.

She can tell them that her path through the castle was compromised. They wouldn't mind. It isn't like she's on any big missions anyway.

She turns to apparate down there, the suction of the spell already dragging her in when she hears Malfoy whoop from all the way back inside.

"It's Gibbon! Close enough- I win."

* * *

She paces the rooftop she's stationed on with barely concealed annoyance. It hadn't been her fault that Ron had mishandled the Greek fire on the last mission. She'd told them to let her take the point. But no. Nobody listens to little old Hermione Granger.

And now they're all stuck with small hit and run missions. She kicks the parapet wall running along the edge of the rooftop and grunts at the pain it causes.

She can't afford to break a toe while on duty. Not when the payload is so close within their reach. They've been tailing the supplies ever since the order went out from the Death-Eater controlled Ministry. She risks a quick glance over the waist-high wall and sure enough, the humble transport truck is stationed right where they'd been told it would be in the brief.

Around her, in the remains of the small town buildings that surround the square, are the rest of her team; hidden away till the signal is seen.

Hermione scuffs her boots against the wall and startles at the noise. Hastily, she backs away from the wall; and even though she is invisible to most, she feels nervous anyway. She hunkers down beside a chunk of an outdoor grill that had been destroyed some time ago in a battle she hadn't been in.

She's never been to this town before. Now, it stands deserted- bare of all humans except for the hidden Order members and the payload's sole courier. It looks reminiscent of an old western film, with the broken brick buildings and the wooden structures that have been splintered apart by the previous battle. She wonders absently whether it had been pretty.

Footsteps from the fire escape alert her to someone's arrival and she hopes to _God_ that its Ron for whatever reason.

It's not.

The figure is far too tall as it comes up the stairwell and far too quiet. Long spindly hands reach for purchase on the wall to haul the person's weight over, and Hermione prepares to blast them off.

But her orders are to be quiet. She can't make any noise to impediment the success of her mission. Any sound could alert the driver of the truck to some suspicious activity, so she cannot risk the body falling backward and through the already creaky fire escape.

The figure straightens and flicks open their cloak. It's a dark affair, double-breasted with dull buttons and far too long to be efficient. She stares dumbly as the figure removes the blurring spell over their face and nearly smacks herself for not Avada'ing him on sight.

Malfoy's brilliantly white head reflects happy rays of sunlight as he crosses over to where she was supposed to be and peers down at the payload. He jauntily flips a golden coin into the air twice and returns it to a breast pocket.

No. Hermione shakes her head. No way. He is not sabotaging this or ruining it or killing them or whatever it was he was here to do.

"Malfoy," she hisses. "MALFOY. Get _down_! They'll see you."

He startles and ducks down, safely hidden from the others' sight by the parapet wall.

"Granger?" he whispers incredulously.

"You _twit_ ," she snaps viciously, scuttling to where he was. "Why are you here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," he frowns, eyes darting around the rooftop, in search of her no doubt.

"No, you cannot. Answer me or I will _Imperio_ you," Hermione grits out. "Are there others?"

His grey eyes flick over to where she crouches beside him, invisible, and then continues with its search to place her.

"It's just me Granger, don't get your panties in a twist," he offers, rolling his eyes. "Where are you? Are you actually here or did I trigger some kind of alert system?"

"Shut up," she grouses. "Tell me you're not here for the-,"

"The golden payload? Why yes I am, love. Medicine and vegetables and fresh linen? Can't let you lot have that, can I?"

His cheeky smirk infuriates her even though he looks dumb talking while facing the wrong direction.

"You said there weren't others!" she growls, inching forward with her hand on her wand.

"And there aren't," Malfoy insists, palms up in front of his chest as he sinks lower against the parapet wall. "Just me. Now, are we going to have a problem?"

"Yes the hell we are, Malfoy!" she snaps in disbelief. "We need those supplies- we've struggled enough for this. If you're not here by snake face's moldy decree then kindly fuck off!"

Malfoy snorts and shakes his head. "Snake face. Real mature, Granger. You're very passionate- I can see the appeal to the likes of Weasley- but I must decline."

"What?" she mutters. "You're going to stop us? You?"

"That I am," he says, absently tapping his breast pocket.

"Why?"

"That payload goes through this town to the docks. There's no way you're getting this to Scotland by land so by sea it goes. The only shipping village nearby with a functioning dock is the muggle one down by this very coast and it is far too untouched by the war to be dragged into this, unfortunately."

"And what? You're concerned the poor fishing folk of Cadgwith, Cornwall are going to be marked by our presence, is that it?

"Sure?" he shrugs.

Hermione conjures ropes to bind around Malfoy's frame, coiling tight around him to his surprise.

"Wait, Granger-,"

"No, you shut up. There is no way that you're sabotaging this for me. No. _Way_." Hermione hisses vehemently. "Those supplies will go to the injured and hungry who really deserve it. People who fought for what is right-,"

"Granger, enough. I know this tirade-I've heard it a dozen times from you and Potter and every bleeding-heart Gryffindor that's tried to kill me. Get rid of the bonds. Now. Time is running."

His eyes dart across the rooftop, still trying to place her.

"Time's up for you I guess," she shrugs, before rising to her feet.

A light flashes from the clocktower in the town square, and Hermione peers over the edge of the wall to spot the poor sod paid to transport the payload to the Ministry.

She hopes she's the one to detain him. She has her hand on the parapet wall, ready to leap over soundlessly when she hears Malfoy shuffle.

"What-," she begins, turning to face where the blonde sits.

"Sorry, Granger. But this town isn't big enough for the both of us," he says, clearly proud of the tacky, Muggle line.

His voice is followed by the loud pop of apparition- familiar and unnecessarily loud.

Beside her, the ropes sag to the ground and when she turns back to the payload, she spots Malfoy standing on top of the vehicle.

"You _absolute_ prick!" she mutters angrily, before vaulting over the wall, wand slashing.

She aims four Stuns at his head before dropping her attack to cushion her fall. Ron is shouting crazily from the balcony across the square, and even the courier has his wand out.

All wands point to Malfoy and by the sounds of distress coming from the entire effort, Hermione's educated guess is that nothing has yet to hit him.

"Get off the payload Malfoy," she urges angrily, firing wildly. "You're literally surrounded!"

"What in the bleeding hell is going on?" Ron exclaims, his barrage of spells pausing for a brief second. "The courier! He's off! He is heading right...Sadie! _My_ right- Sadie tail him!"

The skinny man hears the command and bolts faster down the street, firing blindly over his shoulder.

On top of the payload, Malfoy has set up a strange ward around the whole vehicle. Their attacks bounce off harmlessly and he crouches to start blazing a hole through the top of the driving compartment.

"You've got to be kidding me," Hermione grits out, darting towards the stationary truck the second his back is turned.

Ahead of the payload, the rest of her team press on despite the confusion. Ron manages to duck close, blasting the vehicle enough to make it rock.

"Don't destroy the truck!" Hermione hears Padma chastise loudly. "Ron calm down! We can't set it on fire!"

Everything is going to _shit_.

Malfoy glances up, pausing in his laborious efforts of breaking in. He mutters something and flicks his wrist and the magic shielding him pushes outward. Hermione has just enough reflex in her to drop and roll under the vehicle, watching through the space as the exploding barrier knocks Ron and Padma clear off their feet and back into the buildings they came from.

Wasting no time she rolls back out and reaches for the door closest to her, throwing herself into the driver's seat just as Malfoy drops into the one next to her from above.

"Ah!" he exclaims when he tries to get behind the wheel and crashes into her solid form. "What the fuck?"

"Pretificus Totalus!" Hermione snaps, aiming her wand at his head, but the second her wand flares Malfoy throws a punch that luckily hits her arm, knocking the spell up through the roof of the vehicle.

"Granger?" Malfoy says in askance. "Morgana's tits woman, why are you everywhere?"

"Get out of the car, Malfoy."

"I think not," he says haughtily, and Hermione gives up her wand to punch him in the face.

Outside, Ron throws a strong _Reducto_ at the side of the vehicle that thankfully misses the driver's door and only blows the top of the hood _clean off_.

"I'm inside, dammit!" Hermione tries to shout at him, but Malfoy has his wand out so she jerks around.

" _Expelliarmus_ ," she gushes so fast that even she's surprised when the spell works and his wand snaps towards her.

She throws another punch at his face and leans over to toss his wand out of the gaping space above their heads.

"Ugh Granger, come _on_ ," Malfoy whines, but remains rather unperturbed by it all. "And do get out of the vehicle- I'd be loathed to have to take you with me."

Hermione ignores him, casting a quick freezing charm his way; smirking when his affronted gasp freezes in place.

The vehicle rocks under another barrage of spells much to Padma's intense horror, and thinking quickly Hermione summons her Patronus to worm past Ron's attacks. She sees the moment he realizes where the otter came from and smiles when the constant battering against the payload ceases.

"It's fine!" she calls in the now blessed silence. "I've got it! Target secured!"

She fires off a happy shower of sparks to indicate her position in the vehicle.

"Malfoy?" she hears Ron ask as he trots past to inspect the contents in the back of the truck.

"Petrified," she says smugly, glancing over at where he sits, frozen.

"Good," Ron mutters. "Where in the everloving heck did he come from? Kingsley is going to have a field day with him when we get back."

She hears Sadie call in, dragging the courier back into the square. Padma is retreating to help secure the flailing man.

Hermione feels smug and knows she shouldn't, but they would've lost hadn't it been for her quick thinking. She lets her gaze slip back to Malfoy and frowns.

What was he thinking? He couldn't have expected to just... drive away, could he?

What an idiot.

He doesn't look an idiot though, despite how much his face annoys her. His sharp features are frozen in an accusatory gasp, but his eyes hold no panic. No fear.

He has not lost. It doesn't sit with her well and she loses some of the heady smugness.

Hermione is just about to suggest that they remove Malfoy's body from the vehicle when she sees it.

There's a warning glow emanating from a pocket on his chest and she remembers the coin and everything clicks just in time. Her hand fumbles for the door and she falls backward out of the vehicle- her body barely escaping the vacuum pull of the portkey that has just activated on Malfoy.

It takes all of five seconds for the payload to disappear, and Hermione remains on the ground for another whole minute as Ron rages and rages, thinking about how utterly ridiculous this was becoming.

Padma wants to chase it. She outlines a way to seek intel on where Voldemort might have instructed Malfoy to go. It may take a while since they no longer have the resources to track portkeys, she says. But Hermione knows that isn't going to work because Voldemort didn't send him anywhere.

For some reason, she doesn't want to tell them. This isn't the Death Eaters getting their stuff back safe, this is something else. It's a part of something else that she can't quite figure out just yet. Something resurfaces from their interaction earlier up on the rooftop.

"Where the bloody hell did that portkey go?" Ron curses, kicking at a wall.

"Cadgwith, Cornwall," Hermione mutters, remembering.

"What?" Sadie asks.

Hermione shakes her head. She has no idea where he went, she tells them, or why he was even here.

When they return, Moody informs them that there was nothing they could have done about it. Malfoy was hard to get intel on these days, he tells them.

Two years after the Battle of Hogwarts, with over a thousand dead, Draco Malfoy has gone rogue and Hermione Granger lost fair and square. Twice.

* * *

The damp cells are dirty and stink of rot and decay. Thick sludge coats the floors and Hermione hates how it sucks at the soles of her shoes. Beside her, Neville is mumbling about the escape route. He is no longer stout and stocky, having traded it in for gangly height and firm features. His hair is shorn close to his scalp and an ugly scar tears past one ear until it reaches his jaw.

He continues to mumble under his breath. It calms him to repeat the plan to himself.

 _Out the dungeons. Left at the hall. Pause with targets till command. Down through the atrium. Left. Left. Home run. Do not enter the maze._

Malfoy Manor is ridiculously complex and vast, stemming from the fact that it has been standing since the acquisition of land through violence was a thing. Neville had told her that. He knows a lot about everything.

A treasure trove of trivia. It is not comforting but she lets him ramble on nonetheless.

The cells so far have been empty of any occupants, but they expected that. Luna and the others are being held in the lower levels. Where the wards are tough and the live security even tougher.

They reach the stairwell leading down together and split to flank the entrance. Neville nods at her and Hermione takes the lead, wand held in front of her.

When Neville casts a strong _Muffliato_ over the stairwell, she is ready. The second she sees the dim light of the lower dungeons, she fires off two loud Reductos, aiming at nothing. The sound shocks and disorients the guards long enough for her to press in; throwing up a quick protego before aiming Stuns at their heads. One hits the ground, unconscious, but the other guard fires back with a harsh Crucio that blessedly bounces off her shielding charm. She turns to face him and is met with the rugged features of Thorfin Rowle. His ugly sneer sends a _jolt_ of fear down her spine, and Neville picks up the attack for her.

Hermione falls back into the stairwell thankfully and begins work on the wards. She is good at dismantling them now. She is one of the best they have. The wards are tricky, being ancient blood wards to boot, but there is nothing too complicated. She worms her way through the intricately woven magic barrier just beyond the exit of the stairs and is able to render them inert just as her _P_ _rotego_ gives way.

Rowle's attack hits its mark and Neville drops to the ground, jerking violently. Hermione sees him go down and chokes back on a shriek. She feels anger coil tight in her gut as she snarls, stepping over her friend with an angry slash of her wand.

Her first spell knocks the Death-Eater back hard, his head cracking against the far wall.

" _Sectumsempra_!" she intones, aiming for his heart, and the curse hits heavily.

She ignores Rowle as he drops to the ground, bleeding profusely. His choking gasps echo in the damp dungeon. He will be dead in a few minutes.

Hermione steps over to the second guard who'd fallen unconscious and casts a binding spell over him. She kicks away his wand, tosses an Order issued portkey on him, and hopes that whoever is on duty back at Grimmauld Place will beat him up a little before Kingsley interrogates him.

Behind her, Neville staggers to his feet, wiping a bloody nose.

"Never gets easy," he says shakily, and Hermione knows they're losing time, but she pauses to mutter a simple healing charm to help ease a fraction of the pain.

Neville acknowledges it with a small smile and moves to let Hermione work on unlocking the first cell's wards. Inside is an unconscious or _dead_ Ginny Weasley. Her gut is tight as she forces herself to walk past and open the next cell. When Neville doesn't cry out when he goes in to retrieve Ginny, Hermione knows that her friend is okay and allows herself to relax minutely.

Luna peers at her through the bars of her cell, face bruised and blonde hair a riot. Her mouth moves yet there is no sound, and for split second Hermione is afraid that they've muted her. Then she remembers that magic exists and casts the counter for a Silencio. Luna gasps aloud in relief and leans her forehead against the bars.

"I knew you'd come. I just knew," the blonde says, voice unnaturally raspy and low.

"We're sorry it took so long," Hermione says, eyes stinging with unshed tears.

Luna only smiles. She staggers through when her cell is opened and reaches for Neville immediately. He shoots Hermione an apologetic look before ignoring the mission and hugging his girl as best he can with Ginny slumped over his shoulder.

Hermione sighs and moves to the next cell. She releases Colin Creevey and Parvati Patil, both looking better than Luna and reaches the final cell. She peers in and nearly misses the prone figure lying headfirst in the muck. It is almost entirely covered with the grime of the floor and only parts of the body show through. She winces, hoping the person is okay, but all of her targets are secure.

There is no one else who should be in here. Their intel had been very clear. The Malfoy dungeons are notorious for holding Order captives alone. They didn't just waste time on erecting blood wards for everyone.

She signals for Neville to leave, and he does so. He has to lead them out while she flanks. It would take them some time to reach the first floor of the dungeons so she figures she will have time to catch up.

Working on the cell's locking ward, she breaks through, but it takes longer than it had for the others. The figure doesn't stir even as she sloshes up near its head, and it doesn't seem to register anything when she grabs a shoulder and flips it over.

A face of muck is all that reveals, and she feels disappointment well in her, seeing the drying blood mixed in with the mud on the body's chest. She drops to a crouch and places a wary finger on the figure's neck, feeling for a pulse.

Nothing.

She pulls back, casts a rudimentary shocking charm- hoping against hope that the voltage is enough to jolt something back to life.

She tries for a pulse again.

A weak thrum of blood answers her questing fingers and she withdraws, satisfied. Hermione sits back on her heels to cast the basic healing and stabilizing charms, thinking that they should be enough till the person gets proper care. She pulls a thumb across the body's eyes and down a cheek, shaking her hand after to dislodge the muck off her finger. The pale skin shining back at her almost contradicts the life she knows is now flowing inside the body. This person looks dead.

Maybe she should leave.

The dead guy's chest suddenly heaves and grey eyes stare into her own, flicking open with such vigor that she scrambles back, a hand on her wand.

"Granger?"

Fuck's sake...

"Malfoy," she gasps out, hand leaving her wand to clutch at her chest. "Go back to being dead."

"Can't," he wheezes. "You saved me."

She winces at that. "I suppose I did."

The blonde struggles to sit up and fails, arms slipping in the muck. He thuds back down to the ground and groans. Fresh blood blooms across his chest, seeping through the muck and grime that clings to his clothes.

"Care to help a fellow man out?" he asks, voice raw and hoarse.

Hermione crosses her arms and sniffs.

"What's this about?"

When she stays silent, he rolls his eyes and snorts in pain.

"Is this about the supplies I commandeered?" he asks, attempting to sit up again. "That was a fair win, Granger. Five against one. Not my fault I was better prepared."

"It was a waste."

"It was also _four months_ ago."

"It was an absolute waste of well-needed supplies, and you know it."

"The good muggle fisherfolk of Cadgwith, Cornwall were immensely pleased with the supplies. I'd say it wasn't a waste," he coughs out, slowly crawling onto his knees with shaking arms.

"Muggles? What did they even need it for?" she presses, confused. "We're the ones fighting-,"

"I dunno," he coughs. "Maybe they're the ones stuck in between a fight they can't win, fight or hide from."

"You said they wanted nothing to do with us-,"

"Nothing to do with you. Or them. Or anyone."

"Since when did you give a shit about muggles?" Hermione squints.

"Don't get excited," he chortles, choking on a bit of blood he'd hacked up. "I was just someone willing to do some work for some coin. Someone with the means."

Malfoy stops to hack out great, body-wracking coughs, and Hermione is sure the whole castle has heard him.

Manor. Whatever.

"There's no muggle town that hasn't been destroyed in a Death Eater attack, used as a safe point by the Order or been a battleground for both parties. The good folk of Cagdwith were just smart enough to adapt. Now stop being bitter and help me up."

She isn't sure why but she moves anyway, arms reaching to support Malfoy's lumbering ascent. His weight is stifling, but he manages to get his feet under himself without toppling them both over. He reeks of the coppery scent of blood and tangy sweat. Hermione wrinkles her nose in disgust and steps away from him.

"Kind of you to assist me for a whole _minute_ ," Malfoy snarks. "Heaven awaits thee, o battle angel Granger."

"I sure hope so," she mutters. "I resurrected your sorry arse."

Malfoy grins at her. It's a mad grin; his teeth shining through the grime on his face like a bright beacon. The grin of a man who saw death but made it back in time. "That you did."

She turns to leave, keeping an ear out to track him as he follows. He is not as silent as she has come to expect, his feet landing heavily with each step. She wonders how far Neville and the others have gone and whether she will be in trouble for abandoning them.

Behind her, Malfoy snorts.

"So _you_ got Rowle," he says, appraisingly, stopping to kick at the dead man's head. "Ten points, Granger. Nicely done."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE** : HEY everyone. this is just something I started writing on AO3... it's being slowly updated there as well, although it is a little ahead. I write under the name usherrthaaa there... join me on AO3 and come say hi!

anyway... hope you like the storyyy :))


	2. Meet Cute-Meet Bloody

Four months pass and Hermione misses Ron.

She misses Ron and Harry and hates them at the same time for leaving her behind.

She feels odd not having long hair, even if it did get in the way of everything. She wishes she could just see her friends alive and well and happily growing into their late teens. She can't fully grasp how much she misses having parents.

She also does not know where Malfoy is, or whether he is even alive.

Everything irks her, and she is just so goddamn _tired_.

They train almost every day. There's been nothing to do for many of them since the need to run quick missions dried up. The war has hit a lull in its three years of running, and both sides are backing up to recuperate. The Order is trying to expand its garrison up North and has deployed Harry and Ron to spearhead it.

Hermione gets to stay behind with Luna and Neville to handle a safe house in Scotland. It isn't much, and the days are long and mostly boring, but she doesn't envy the boys. Just misses them. And worries for them.

Neville is firing a volley of Stuns at her, ducking past the hex she'd aimed at him. Hermione pulls away from her dreary thoughts to conjure a shield. It deflects most of the spells but lets a few slip. One catches her on the shoulder and she spins with the force, grunting in annoyance as she falls to the ground in mild paralysis.

"Sorry!" Neville calls, sweet as always.

"Oh _bollocks_ ," Hermione snarks, the spell having not hit hard enough to render her unconscious. "Sure you are."

Luna chortles from where she sits on the backdoor porch, sewing their worn out casual clothes. Somewhere inside, Parvati is getting supper ready and Angela is resetting the wards.

It is an awfully boring day and Hermione can't help but wonder whether Malfoy has survived.

* * *

On one night during a particularly dreadful thunderstorm, she realizes that she'd forgotten to ask Malfoy why he had been locked up in his own family's dungeons. Nothing she knows about him so far pieces well together and it irks her so much that she stays up all night, listening to the rain as it hammers against the roof above her splinters the night sky and illuminates her room, lighting up the scowl on her face as she angrily tries to puzzle out Draco Malfoy.

* * *

When she sees Malfoy next, she has just killed his father.

They had finally allowed Hermione into the upper ranks and her team was now fighting alongside Harry and Ron's. Kingsley had let them raid the Carrow household the week earlier, and now they were storming the Lestrange family manor. She and the others had just clashed with the guards posted inside the manor when Malfoy Sr had slunk into the fight; disarming her friends and hitting Luna with a strong Cruciatus. Neville had screamed and charged and nearly lost his arm for it, but Hermione had been there.

She'd been fast. She'd knocked Nev out of his trajectory with her own body and fired four Killing curses into Malfoy Senior's chest.

She stands over him now, the room clear of her friends but filled with the slowly cooling corpses of five other Death Eaters and one innocent House Elf. Lucius Malfoy is judgemental and eerie even in death; his platinum hair spread out around his head like a confused halo. But his eyes are sunken and his face is gaunt. He is but a shell of the powerful and intimidating man he once was.

When she looks up, Malfoy is there.

Draco Malfoy. Malfoy Junior.

He looks dispassionate and cold but she doesn't want to assume as much. His eyes are hard and his face is twisted into a subtle scowl, yet his fists are clenched and he trembles lightly. He looks angry mostly, but also confused, bitter and a little bit upset.

She wants to apologize but she doesn't and when he looks up at her blankly, she wishes she'd left before _this_ had the unlikely chance to happen.

He's a bit thinner than he had been, and his hair is shaggier, falling across his forehead in a mess. His jaw is sharp and there's a strange silvery lattice of scars covering his forearms. He's ditched the dramatic double breasted cloak for a more dramatic, heavy black one. It contrasts harshly against his near pearlescent skin.

He looks like _Death_. Like the Reaper come to harvest Lucius Malfoy's dirty soul.

The thought is too morbid so Hermione shakes herself out of it. She knows she must look a right terror to him, with her hair shorn at mid-neck, curls in a riot. The new scar across her collarbone is more a healing wound than a dried scab so it is still visible to everyone with at least one eye. Its ugly and she hates it, but the man who gave it to her is dead so she wears it anyway.

Malfoy looks at her for a long time. And then nods. Slowly.

She takes a painful breath and struggles to find something to say.

 _Sorry I killed your dad? Sorry you had to see it? Sorry you didn't get to do it yourself? Sorry, but I'm really, really,_ _ **really**_ _not?_

He saves her from impending doom by breaking the harsh silence with a quick exhalation of air.

"That's thirty points in total, Granger," he says, his gravelly voice undermining the lightness he's trying to aim for. "I guess I gotta catch up."

Hermione hums in awkward agreement, wondering how she's going to exit the conversation kindly when she suddenly pauses mid-thought.

"Wait," she says, and Malfoy raises a careful, judgemental brow in the age-old way he always has. "Your dad was twenty points? _Only_?"

He looks startled at hearing her say so much. Then, he chuckles dryly; closing his eyes and rubbing at them before laughing a little louder, and then shaking his head.

"You're right," he acquiesces, meeting her eye with renowned energy. "He should be worth at least fifty considering the torture and his overall gloomy and awful demeanor."

Hermione nods at that. "Damn straight."

"You're a lot more palatable when you're not invisible," Malfoy says, frowning in her direction like he's trying to puzzle something out.

Hermione shifts her weight to her other foot. "Well, you're a million times more bearable when you're not dying _miserably_ in your own dungeon."

Malfoy laughs again; a short bark that's sharp and loud.

"It's good to see that the horrors of war haven't rendered you _entirely_ incapable of humor," he says charitably, echoing her words.

Hermione fights the urge to take delight in the familiar verbal sparring and instead tries to reply neutrally.

"Well, you could have just said I was funny."

Malfoy smirks. "Don't overdo it, Granger."

He ignores her indignant huff and taps a long slender finger against his nose before slowly pointing it at her face.

"See you on the flipside, battle angel Granger," he says, before giving his father's body one last, brisk glance and disApparating to god-knows-where.

Such drama for a measly ferret, Hermione thinks, rolling her eyes. She didn't even get to ask why he was here, or why he'd chosen to turn up at all. She kicks the ground near Lucius' head and steps over his body- determined to leave the room with haste.

"See you on the flipside," she mutters to herself. "Malfoy, you dramatic _shit_."

* * *

Hermione finds herself stumbling through the unknown depths of the forest, more than a little lost and very much unwilling to admit to it. Her wand is slippery with sweat from her clammy palm, and she struggles to keep her grip on it.

The sounds of wand-fire have long since faded out and she nearly trembles from anxiety at the silence around her. She is far away from the fight- separated from her friends and seemingly even her foes.

She is lost. She is alone. No one will bother to look for her.

She finds herself hoping that someone will miraculously appear.

That Malfoy will miraculously appear.

He does not, and she spends an entire day _miserably_ attempting to escape without splinching herself. But she is weak and tired and every time she tries to set up a ward to hide behind or to conjure something simple, her anxiety gets the best of her and the action just drains her energy. When Tonks and Ron finally find her, she is dehydrated and delirious from the heat and has to be knocked out to be taken home safely.

* * *

When Hermione turns twenty-one, they are still at war. There is very little land in England that is untouched by the scars they all leave behind after battles and raids and attacks and counters- yet there is more to fight for than ever before.

Harry and Ginny have a child. A _child_.

A sweet, beautiful baby boy called James who was born into a war that is seemingly endless. He is so beautiful and innocent and Hermione does not want to see that innocence fade, _ever_. It gives her hope and that's the only good thing that has come out of this, because the Potters have more to lose now.

Some days she thinks that maybe she should look to have more to lose too. She thinks that maybe investing in herself a little would give her something to fight for, to hold on to.

She looks to Ron in those moments and tries _so very hard_ to feel it. Not love- she knows that that's there. She does love him. But she cannot do anything about it. Her mind will not let her act on it, dwell on it, show it explicitly or even sometimes it won't let her feel it.

She tries to feel the need to have something more. Tries to feel the want for a better future, but although she knows thats what she's fighting for, she cannot let herself have it now.

So she watches as Ron takes delight in Sadie's smile, leans into Lavender's touch or leaves Padma's room in the mornings when they rest in the safehouses.

Those are the majority of her days. She finds that she does not care about what happens to her personal future apart from the fact that she remains alive along with her friends. She trains consistently and continues to get better at ward-breaking. She even joins Lupin at making new curses and spells. But the work is hard and dangerous, so she settles with watching and learning from her former professor as she tackles the task at hand. On the days when Snape checks in with Kingsley, she tries to weasel into his potions room to learn whatever she can from whatever he is doing. Practical healing has never been her strong suit, but she is determined to be the best asset the Order has. And if that means she has to deal with Snape's abominable attitude and the stench of boiling potions all in one claustrophobic room in the attic, then _so be it_.

He scowls at her often and mutters about how he'd rather be left alone when he visits, but still lets her sit on a stool in the corner of his workroom and take notes.

Today she sits and scribbles at her stool as he gathers the ingredients for a strong burn salve and a set of glass jars for the numbing potions he'd brewed the last time.

Severus is as sharp as ever- looking as if the war hasn't aged him in the least. His hair still hangs greasily at the same length it always has, and he hides all emotion behind his customary scowl. The hard judgment in his eyes keeps everyone at bay.

Hermione squirms as the herbs he cuts up neatly start to stink up the room. It's a pungent smell and she squelches the urge to gag noisily. Snape would not appreciate that.

"Finished your notes, Miss Granger?" Snape asks warily.

Hermione starts, surprised at hearing him speak directly to her instead of mumbling snidely.

She has stopped writing, she notices. Shaking her head abashedly, she quickly notes down what she hopes he did to the ingredients.

"It wouldn't do to only know how to brew a burn salve halfway," Snape continues, smugly.

"No, it would not," Hermione sighs. "Was that five milligrams of the sunspear?"

"Do you want to heal the burn or _start_ one?" he asks dryly, tone as sharp as the knife he holds.

Hermione huffs, strangely reminded of someone else. "You sound like Malfoy."

The effect her words have on Snape will forever remain etched in her memory. His head shoots up in alarm and he drops all the roots he's holding into the cauldron, much to Hermione's his dismay. His eyes pierce into her very soul and she feels him reach out with a wordless Legilimens.

She steels herself against his mental attack and frowns at the man's responding scowl.

"My godson is _dead_ ," he says tightly, looking away and at the ruined potion. "It would do you best not to mention him in ill will."

Hermione gulps, her chest tight and her grip deadly on her pencil. She hasn't been expecting that.

"I... I'm sorry," she mumbles, unsure why she feels so hollow so suddenly. "I didn't know, or else I would not have brought it up."

It is quite a surprise. She feels sort of let down instead of sad. A mild disappointment so to say.

Snape seems to be more enraged at this.

"You do not expect me to accept your false wishes," he says snidely. "Save your breath, Miss Granger."

"I am _genuinely_ sorry," she snaps, narrowing her eyes.

But Snape does not heed her.

"I suggest you take the Wolfsbane for Remus and leave," he mutters harshly.

He turns so that he cuts her view of his work with his body and shields the potions from her. Grunting in annoyance at his reaction, Hermione grabs the potions left on the counter and stomps off in search of Lupin. She focuses on asking him to teach her wandless magic, and tries desperately to ignore the hollowness that is eating at her chest.

* * *

Ron is ignoring her, she notices.

He purposefully follows Sadie around and chooses her to partner with for missions. Right now they are positioned in a valley just off Sussex. The air is brittle and cold, the grass wet and sharp, and the sky is dull and lifeless. The environment reflects Hermione's mood as she stalks around her designated spot with Terry beside her to flank while she attacks.

It's not that she doesn't trust Terry Boot to do a good job of protecting her, she just trusts Ron more. And expects him to feel the same way.

Sadie lost a practise battle to Madam Pomfrey once! Madam Pomfrey hasn't used her wand to say a _single_ spell of violence in her entire life leading up to the war. Hermione scowls at the injustice of it all and ignores Ron when he starts to stare at Sadie as if the sun shines out of her tits.

Maybe it does. Maybe she has spectacular tits.

When the Death Eaters pass through, Hermione is almost relieved to ambush them. She attacks them with such fury and eagerness that Terry has trouble keeping up with her pace. She moves through them like a devil in a dervish, hair flying and mouth in constant motion- forming spells as fast as her hand can keep up with the wand-motions.

Although her wand is an extension of her arm, she does not truly rely solely on it anymore. Her free hand fires off simple spells and erects shields without the aid of one, making her a formidable force in the face of the enemy; and she sees the exact moment her targets realise what they are _truly_ up against.

She holds her aim true and strong, even as she ducks spells and pauses to throw off the enemy. She watches the Death Eaters drop to the floor- some wailing and some quiet in death- and feels stronger.

Behind her, Terry is desperately trying to keep her alive. He shields her and covers her unprotected sides by disarming and tackling the enemies that flank and blindside them.

Blood trickles from a wound across her shoulder and it makes her feel alive.

The battle gives her a thrill of adrenaline that doesn't disappear even when Ron kisses Sadie when it ends and they stand winners. She holds on to the thrill, the euphoria, and takes it with her to the next fight. She tells herself that she doesn't need anything except for the war to be over, but despite this she finds herself retreating to bed early and hiding from Ron for the rest of the week.

* * *

The thrill in her veins is decidedly _not_ adrenaline this night. In fact, her educated guess is that its anger, to be precise.

 _Expelliarmus_ , she thinks calmly, catching the wand that sails at her with ease.

"What the-," he mutters, spinning around in mild concern.

"Granger?" his eyes squint at her in recognition and then widen at her explosive expression.

"Why," she begins in a quiet, lethal voice. "Does everyone think you're _dead_?"

She nearly snaps his new wand in annoyance, but the sudden sheepish look he throws her way nearly disarms her in return. He drops his eyes to the floor, cheeks colouring as he lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck.

He's a lot larger than he had been. Broader too, and maybe taller. His hair is trimmed short along the sides while the front falls across his forehead and it is a dark, dark black. It is bold against his marble skin and makes his eyes stand out eerily. He's dressed in dark clothing as well and has been staking out her target for as long as she has been.

Except this time _she_ has surprised _him_.

"Ah yes," he says awkwardly, a stupid grin on his face. "Let me explain that rumor-,"

"That _you_ started no doubt," Hermione scoffs vehemently, crossing to where he stands in the shadows.

He's chosen a position by the archway with an open and unhindered view of their target's safehouse as opposed to where she has chosen to be- up on a terrace opposite the building with a sniper's view of the area. Now, they both stand in the archway, shielded from sight by a heavy canopy of flowers and several of Malfoy's wards and charms. Greece is beautiful this time of year, and despite the reasons she is here, Hermione is glad she is able to see it in her lifetime.

The squat white buildings stacked over each other, cresting the crystal blue sea, are stunning in their simplicity and make her want to forget that she is here to _kill a man_.

"Yes, but now you know the truth," Malfoy smirks, still rubbing his neck.

She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms stubbornly. "Your godfather would probably appreciate the knowledge more than I could care for it."

He falls silent and she knows she's struck a nerve. Malfoy looks away then, staring intently at where she has been informed the target would be in a few minutes.

She wonders who has paid Malfoy to be here. _Who does he work for? What other power, apart from the Order, even knew of Amycus Carrow, let alone wanted him dead?_

She does not ask him.

"The longer hair suits you better, Granger," Malfoy says quietly, eyes still at the doorway of their target's hideout.

"You look _awful_ with black hair," she offers, still angry.

"That's not fair-,"

"Neither is pretending to be dead-,"

"Potter did it!" he interjects.

"-for two whole months," she continues, casting a wordless muffling charm around them. "Harry was gone for at least ten minutes!"

"How sweet," he says. "Did you miss running into me?"

He looks at her then, standing close enough that she will have to tilt her head back to look up at him in return. He looks mildly amused and hides a smile behind a controlled smirk. She scoffs and feels him relent.

"The Dark Lord had to think it was true, Granger. And that meant Severus as well," he begins.

"You had to fool Voldemort and Severus Snape. Two of the most powerful Legilimens to date. I'm sure there was an easier way to do this."

"What's done is done," Malfoy sighs. "And it has succeeded, by some stroke of luck. Now I can work in relatively saner circumstances."

 _What work?_ she wants to ask. _Why does it seem like you are no longer with Voldemort? Why do you run around being a nuisance?_ _ **What work?**_

"How is he? My godfather?"

Hermione snorts. "He's a snarky pain in the arse, as is usual for him."

Malfoy chuckles lightly at that.

"You're not surprised that he's with us?" she asks.

"What if I didn't know about that and now you've just told me?"

"Why else would you ask me how he was? That's also the only way I'd know that Snape was being a bitch about losing his only godson."

"Okay, firstly... _ouch_. You may cease the poking, I understand it was an arsehole thing to do. Secondly, he's always a bitch about everything so your assumption-,"

"Don't be a prick about this," she snaps, avoiding his eye.

"Fine," he grumbles, crossing his arms. "You're no fun anymore, Granger."

"And you're a fat liar," she snarks. "What great news. Alert Skeeter!"

"Skeeter would have kittens about this entire situation if she was still alive," Malfoy agrees, rubbing at his chin.

"You are deflecting this conversation so hard," Hermione frowns, annoyed.

She has _never_ wanted a conversation to go smoother than she does now. Malfoy seems intent on avoiding it however, and smirks down at her when she notes it.

"Smart witch," he nods, eyes returning to focus on where their target should be in a few moments.

Hermione scowls and turns to face him, tracing his features carefully. The faint, new scar on his cheekbone, the way one of the tips of his ears is perpetually red, the squint of his eyes and the tension in the way he holds himself.

When she turns back, the target has just appeared out through the doorway. Amycus Carrow steps out into the open, eyes shifty, and his clothing reduced to the battered remains of something once expensive. She senses Draco move for his wand, _the one she still has_ , and smirks.

"Forty points to whoever gets the kill," she says quickly before thrusting her arm out with a wordless curse on her lips.

Malfoy doesn't even have the time to blink.

* * *

When Severus sees his godson in her memories, he nearly cries.

She, Hermione Granger, nearly sees Severus Snape cry.

She holds her breath when he ceases the legilimens charm and retreats from her mind, and hopes to _god_ that the potioneer doesn't start weeping. She crosses her fingers behind her back and stays still.

But she need not worry for Snape only holds two fingers to his eyes for a really long time, and when he removes them the tears are no longer there.

"Why?" he asks simply.

She supposes he means to ask her why she offered him the memory, or why she catalogued it in the first place. It clearly isn't a natural observation of Malfoy's features- that hadn't been necessary given the situation. She took the time to carefully trace his features- a purposeful action with a clear intent.

"I thought you might appreciate knowing the truth," she says carefully, trying not to offend him.

Severus nods at that. "I greatly admire your effort. Although I cannot understand how you came by this information."

"Well obviously I saw him," she snorts, forgetting herself.

"And you did not think to restrain or detain him?" Snape presses, seemingly disdainful of her choices. "He is a valuable asset with a trove of information we do not yet possess and access to links we have yet to control ourselves."

Hermione scowls at the man, mirroring his usual expression. "He didn't kill me on sight and I returned the favor."

"That is not how wars are _won_ , Miss Granger," Snape seethes, somehow angry at her.

"Well that is how _godsons_ are kept _alive_ for their only remaining loved one to see," she snaps back. "It kept me alive and in return did the same for him. If you are upset then you can wait with me till we see him next and personally attack him for whatever it is that you're taking out on me."

Snape sits back, seemingly having heard what he wanted to. "So there is an acquaintance of sorts here."

Hermione frowns. "A _what_ now?"

"An understanding at the very least."

"I didn't say-,"

"Intriguing," Snape observes, ignoring her. "I must be on my way. Help yourself to the Dreamless Sleep in my cabinet. Merlin knows the Potter kid could use some."

Hermione narrows her eyes at his suggestion that Ginny drug her kid to sleep, but she understands how James' constant crying is beginning to affect everyone's temperament. She ignores him, however, and watches him leave with a nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

It's the first time she and Ron are on a mission together in weeks. She feels less awkward than she expected to be and allows the summer sun to seep into her wretchedly pale skin. Ron, on the other hand, is really tense.

"Ran through the files, 'Mione?" he asks restlessly.

"For the fourth time, Ronald, _yes_ ," she replies, frowning at him. "Can't you just sit here and enjoy the sun for a while?"

She indicates to the small chair beside hers and raises her eyebrows at him. She's sat out in the balcony of the room they've booked up on the sixth floor of a questionable establishment. Their room faces the heavily warded front entrance of a seedy looking building belonging to one of the cartels that have sprung up in the wake of Voldemort's reign. The cartel is rumored to be shadow-run by Fenrir Greyback- and if that proves true tonight, they will have a shot at their first big break at Voldemort's inner circle.

Ron fidgets behind her and refuses to join her on the balcony. He fusses with his new appearance at the mirror, fumbling with their new robes. The polyjuice potions they've taken have turned them pale and eerie, similar to Bellatrix and her kin.

Ron's hair is black and long and touches his elbows. Hermione gags at the sight and goes back to peering through their balcony. Her own skin is miles away from its usual tan brown and it makes her stomach sink, but she focuses on their mission and takes comfort in the safety of well-laid plans.

When night falls, they wait to see their informant enter the building before crossing the street to follow him in. Hermione feels the wards reach out to scan them and she hopes their informant did what was necessary to grant her access.

They enter with ease.

The joint is gloomy and dark, lit only by a few moody light fixtures and a cage full of pixies. The few wizards that mill about drinking firewhiskey are large and intimidating. Some, however, stand sleek and tall and regal- allowing Hermione to note who the ones with the real power are, and who is just the muscle.

Their informant sits at the table right in the middle of the room, just like they'd discussed with Moody. He's shrouded by cigarette smoke, but when they draw near, Hermione spots dark, closely cropped hair and nearly dies on the spot.

Except it's not black hair, its _brown_ , and the person is not deathly pale, he's a healthy tan and is a head shorter than who she thinks it is.

She and Ron take their seats quietly and Ron indicates for a pint. Their informant smiles at them crookedly and leans forward. His face is too complicating to be identified- most likely the product of a charm.

"When I rise and leave, you'll know that he is here. Do not waste time or we will all die," he says in a low voice.

"What about these guys?" Hermione asks.

"Leave them to me," the man offers, smiling.

"Do you have the potion?" Ron asks, eyes shifting to glance at their potential exits in a way that is ridiculously suspicious. "Can't expect us to go against a _werewolf_ without some luck."

Their informant scoffs. "Do you have my deal? Can't expect a bloke to help without his _protection_."

Hermione rejects the urge to scowl and places a small coin on the table beside the coaster for Ron's drink. It is a list of the informant's requirements from the Order for his help, signed by Kingsley and transfigured to look like a galleon.

"Right then," he says, grinning as he pockets the coin. "Guess I'll be rolling with you lot after this goes down. Got any hot birds back there?"

Ron growls in annoyance, reaching for the potion their informant passes over to them as he rises to leave. He sidesteps a few other patrons of the bar and slowly morphs as the charm leaves his features as he walks. By the time he reaches out to shake hands with three wizards who'd just walked in, he strongly resembles someone Hermione feels she should know.

She doesn't have time to ponder, however, as the newcomers start to move and her mind kicks into overdrive. Greyback is among them; a brutally large, hulking figure amidst the smaller, leaner wizards that accompany him. The four of Dark Wizards head upstairs and their mission begins.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Thanks' for reading the first chapter ahah. here's more!


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